


New Desires

by deadlifts



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, F/M, Injury, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 02:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlifts/pseuds/deadlifts
Summary: Alucard needs to feed to keep his powers strong. When his powers fail at the worst possible moment, Trevor makes a split-second decision to allow Alucard to feed from him. This has a lasting affect on him, but not in the way he would have thought.





	New Desires

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically indulgent smut with blood drinking collectively inspired by Tumblr discussions.

“I can’t.”

Those are the last two words that Trevor wants to hear when he’s prone on the ground, concussed from a brutal collision with a tree, one of Dracula’s winged creatures circling him from above. Adrian, beside him, is grimacing, though as far as Trevor can tell he is uninjured. 

“What do you mean you can’t?”

The creature lets out a shrieking cry, one that pierces through Trevor’s already aching head, and then dives. Trevor attempts to roll, but everything is so foggy, his movements so uncoordinated, that he merely flops to the side. Adrian steps between Trevor and the creature, slashes at it with his sword, and manages to wound it. But there’s a distinct lack of fitness in the way he moves, each action laden with an effort that hadn’t been there before. 

The creature takes to the sky once more, circling menacingly. 

“I’m...tired,” Adrian states, and demonstrates what that means. He releases the sword, which hovers in the air only briefly before dropping to the ground. He bends to pick it up. “I can’t sustain my power.”

“Now’s not the time for a nap,” Trevor replies, attempting to hoist himself to his feet. He grips his Morning Star tightly, but a whip is poor support. 

“I need…” A hesitancy enters Adrian’s body language now, unfamiliar to Trevor, and were it any other moment, he might call the dhampir out on it. Right now, however, Trevor is only concerned with getting to his feet. “To eat.”

“You ate lunch,” Trevor replies, somewhat distractedly as he rises shakily, swaying in place. Above them, the creature cries out in warning, preparing for another lunging attack. “I get that hard bread and cheese isn’t exactly gourmet, but —“

Adrian cuts him off by barreling into him as the creature propels itself at them. It’s effective enough that the creature misses and swoops back up into the sky, but it sends Trevor back down to the ground, Adrian on top of him. 

Adrian stands and reaches to help Trevor up. But Trevor is too busy trying to find where he dropped his Morning Star. His head throbs and he can’t remember what he had been trying to say prior to their tumble. 

“I haven’t had any blood,” Adrian offers, bluntly, albeit quietly. Trevor stops feeling around for his weapon to squint at Adrian.

“You don’t need blood,” Trevor states, because that’s one of the reasons he has accepted traveling with the dhampir — he doesn’t need to feed to survive. He doesn’t need to hurt people. He isn’t _as_ bad as the others. 

“I don’t need blood to live,” Adrian agrees. He bends and picks up the Morning Star, then places it in Trevor’s hand as he helps him stand. 

“You need it for your vampire half,” Trevor replies, slow to understand, but finally reaching the appropriate conclusion. He leans heavily on Adrian, because he doesn’t trust himself to stand unassisted. “You should have said something.”

Adrian huffs at that, a sarcastic breath of a laugh, and Trevor understands it as a reply even though there are no words. Adrian didn’t say anything because his partners in this suicide mission are both human and wary of his ties to vampirism. But here they are, about to die, because Adrian is fighting as a mortal. A weak mortal. 

Bile raises in the back of Trevor’s throat as he makes a split-second decision, knowing he will regret it later. There’s no time to debate, not as the creature once again shrieks from above. And there’s little that Trevor can do by way of alternatives; he can barely stand on his own. 

He holds out his wrist. “Do it, before I change my mind.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” Adrian replies simply, looking away. 

“If you don’t, we’ll die. Get it over with, fast.” Trevor turns his head so he doesn’t have to watch. 

He feels Adrian pull back his sleeve, notes the pause between exposed skin and contact with teeth, and then there’s a spark of pain, followed by a damp, soft contact of lips against the wound. Trevor expects a wave of sickness at the very thought of a Belmont succumbing to a vampire’s hunger, but he finds that it doesn’t come. His heart begins to race, his breathing grows shallow, and he starts shaking — but none of those result from disgust or even a healthy dose of fear. 

No, beneath the mental dissonance that screams that this is _wrong_ , there’s something else. A physical interest, a new alertness, a thrill. Trevor’s lips part and, without any conscious prompting, he lets out an embarrassing low whine, and turns back to he can watch after all. 

Adrian raises his head at that moment, licking a spare trickle of blood from his bottom lip, the action exposing his fangs. Trevor struggles to regain his composure, but he feels strangely weak. 

“I’d have preferred you didn’t look,” Adrian tells him, quietly, looking up at the creature as it begins its descent. 

“Don’t ever speak to me about this,” Trevor warns. He says it to mentally steady himself, to try and remember his lineage, and what it means to be a Belmont. He says it because he is ashamed that even as Adrian’s sword takes flight, proving that a little blood was all the dhampir needed, he feels lingering pleasure. _Need_. 

“It is forgotten.”

* * *

It isn’t forgotten. Later, at their small, temporary camp, reunited with Sypha, who frets over the fact that Trevor slurs through some of his words for a reason other than alcohol for a change, Trevor finds it’s all he can think about. Even as they discuss their mutual victories, even as Sypha surprises him with a bottle and they all toast to another well-fought night, Trevor can’t dull the memory. 

He tells the others that he’s going to take a piss, out in the woods. Sypha grabs his arm. “Do it over there.” She points to a cluster of trees close enough to be illuminated by their fire. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen you do before,” she adds, smiling at him teasingly, but Trevor is in no mood. 

“Let go.”

She blinks at him in surprise, but doesn’t release him. “You have a concussion. You need to stay where we can keep an eye on you.” She wraps her arms around his, a sort of hug that Trevor thinks is meant to be comforting, but he tries to pull away. 

“Let go, Sypha.”

No longer smiling, she forgoes the hug, but not her grip. “What’s wrong?” she asks, fully concerned now, as well she should be. Trevor knows he isn’t the best company, but he isn’t usually so openly somber, especially not after he’s been drinking. 

Sypha looks to Adrian, who is staring at the fire. “It’s alright. Let him go.”

That surprises her further, as she clearly expected Adrian to be on her side. But she releases Trevor, and Trevor stumbles into the woods and walks for a good long while. 

He continues walking until he is confident he is out of earshot of both Sypha and Adrian’s heightened senses. Then he leans his forehead against the tree and murmurs a plea for forgiveness from no one in particular, or perhaps from himself, as he removes his belt and tosses it to the side. He lowers his pants only enough so that he is exposed, then he takes his cock in one hand, and presses the other, his wounded wrist, against the tree. 

He can feel the barely-formed scabs snag on the bark and break open. He can smell the faint metallic scent of his blood. And when he presses harder, he can feel the memory of Adrian’s teeth in his wrist, of his lips against his skin, of the way he sucked and lapped at his blood like an animal. 

He doesn’t need any warm-up further than that. The memory hardens him, despite the chill of the night, and he works his hand up and down the length of his cock, trying to take his time, to ease into it, but finding he can’t. Not when he continues to press his wrist into the bark of the tree, eliciting that sharp burst of pain over and over again. He strokes himself faster, with unfettered need, until he comes, whimpering just as he had earlier, thinking of nothing but Adrian and his fangs. 

When he returns to the camp, Sypha is asleep, and Adrian doesn’t look at him.

* * *

It becomes a nightly ritual. The bite marks on his wrists begin to heal, but his lust over the memory does not fade with them. Every night, Trevor finds an excuse to disappear just long enough to remember, and returns to a guilty Adrian and a concerned Sypha. Sypha tries to question him again, but seems to accept that something has happened that neither he nor Adrian wish to discuss, and tries to temper her curiosity in the end. Adrian never speaks of it, and Trevor spends each day pretending nothing is out of the ordinary. 

Then, one night, braced against a tree and stroking himself as usual, he hears something that makes him pause his reverie long enough to look to the side and see…

Adrian, standing there with an expression on his face that Trevor struggles to read in the dim moonlight. Trevor knows he should drop his dick and behave like a civilized man, but seeing him there, knowing that his fangs as so fucking close, he can’t help himself. He runs his hand over his cock again and his eyes flutter shut with a new surge of pleasure. 

“Trevor,” Adrian says softly. “I’m sorry. I was hoping to catch you before —”

Before? Vaguely, a part of Trevor’s mind wonders if Adrian has known all along why he takes these little trips out into the woods. In this moment, however, he can’t bring himself to care, nor does he want the rest of Adrian’s explanation. “Bite me,” he pants with effort, unabashedly running his hand over the length of his cock again, keeping himself primed and ready, but afraid to stroke too hard, because just the sight of Adrian has him ready to come. 

“What?” Adrian asks. Then, firmly: “No.”

“Alucard,” Trevor murmurs. Then he corrects himself. “ _Adrian_. Bite me.” He takes a breath and tries to steady himself, but it’s shallow, his body too tense. 

“I will not,” Adrian replies, though the absolute lack of confidence in that statement only drives Trevor further off the deep end. 

“Please,” he pants, begs, _whines_. “I helped you.” He exhales, and slides his fingers slowly over his length. 

“That’s unfair,” Adrian whispers, but he moves behind Trevor and leans his head against Trevor’s shoulder. 

“I need this,” Trevor whispers, at his wits end, prepared to degrade himself however is necessary to feel the sensation of fangs digging into his skin, of Adrian drinking from him. 

“I’m sorry,” Adrian murmurs against his neck, tugging his shirt out of the way, and then he eases his teeth into Trevor’s shoulder, slowly, dragging out the sensation, and Trevor doesn’t so much as get his hand back down his cock before he’s coming all over the tree, crying out in pain and ecstasy, blindingly pressing himself back into Adrian as Adrian drinks from him. 

When Trevor is dressed and Adrian has licked his lips clean, they walk back together, quietly, until Adrian says, “This is my fault.” 

It is, Trevor thinks, in retroactive disgust at himself. This is Adrian’s fault for being half of a vampire, for not telling them he needs to feed to keep himself a functional fighter, and for not turning away when Trevor begged for him. This is not his own fault for being so fucking twisted that he feels a twinge of pleasure in his stomach each time he moves in a way that causes the fabric of his shirt to rub against the wound on his neck.

* * *

“You’re hurt!” Sypha exclaims as they return to their camp, bruised and beaten by Dracula’s horde, but victorious yet again. 

“I’ll live,” Trevor replies, though Sypha is right. Blood blooms from his chest against the fabric of his shirt. His adrenaline is still high enough that he isn’t sure how bad the wound is. 

Sypha urges him into a sitting position and pulls off his shirt. Adrian retrieves their water skin and brings it to her. 

“Trevor,” Sypha breathes, fingers moving along several older wounds — bite marks along his neck and chest, a few on his arms. “What happened?” There’s fear in her voice, but also something like understanding, as though the past couple of weeks finally make some sense to her. 

"Nothing," is all he can manage to say.

She looks up at Adrian, who merely attempts to hand her the water. 

“Oh.” She accepts the water and cleans the battle wound quietly. It turns out to be a mere flesh wound, nothing life-threatening at all, so she bandages it without fanfare. 

But when Trevor moves to pull his shirt back over his torso to hide the evidence of those other marks, she slaps his hand away. “Not so fast. I need an explanation.”

Trevor looks at Sypha, simply because he cannot bear to look at Adrian. They have never discussed their nightly trysts. Trevor merely tells himself they are necessary for Adrian to maintain his power, and refuses to think about it in any other light, even though he is usually the one indicating to Adrian when it is time to feed. 

“It must feel good,” Sypha states, moving her fingers over the freshest bite, then pressing into a little, just enough to make Trevor hiss beneath his breath. “Or why would you let him?” 

Sypha is too insightful for her own good, and she notices immediately the way Trevor’s body language changes in the wake of that reminder of pain. She presses harder, and Trevor grows harder; cause and effect. 

Adrian is watching in silence, but he can see that Trevor is being wound up, because he has been doing the winding himself for several nights now. 

He turns to leave. 

“Not so fast,” Sypha calls out. “I’m curious, now. If you can get _Trevor_ to agree to this, I must be missing out.”

She grins at Trevor, holding his stare as she cranes her neck to tempt Adrian. Then she digs her nails into that fresh bite mark, and Trevor moans. 

“Come on. Show me what it feels like.”

Adrian still hesitates. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Sypha stands, then, leaving Trevor a whimpering heap on the floor. She walks over to Adrian, takes his hand, and says, “Adrian, look at Trevor. He is wearing his consent like it is a second skin. And I am telling you…” She smiles and intertwines his fingers with his. “I want this too.”

With a light tug, she leads Adrian back to Trevor. They undress the rest him while he tries and fails to make a snarky comment about the situation. Then Sypha hitches her robes and eases herself over him, takes him inside of her, while Adrian positions himself behind her and grazes his fangs against the pale skin of her neck. She reaches back with one hand and finds the dhampir already hard at the prospect of biting into her flesh. With her other hand, she digs her nails into another of Trevor’s bite marks. Then she moves her hips in unison with Trevor’s broken pleas, stroking Adrian as she thrusts. 

“Do it,” she moans.

He poises his teeth against her neck, then bites. 

His fangs pierce her skin, and she cries out with pleasure.


End file.
